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Portrait of a Dog
one of the most unusual and most touching animal books ever to be written. The biographical treatment of a beloved pet is, in itself, not uncommon. What is exceptional is that the author is able to convey not only her affection for her pet, but to demonstrate the little terrier's distinct personality. I first reat this book in 1946 when I was 10 and have read it many times since. As with all great literature, I gain new insights with each reading. It will be hard to find this book but it will be well worth the search.
- GenresDogs
199 pages, hardcover
First published January 1, 1930
24 people want to read
About the author
Mazo de la Roche
344 books60 followersMazo de la Roche, born Mazo Louise Roche, was the author of the Jalna novels, one of the most popular series of books of her time.
The Jalna series consists of sixteen novels that tell the story of the Canadian Whiteoak family from 1854 to 1954, although each of the novels can also be enjoyed as an independent story. In the world of the Whiteoaks, as in real life, people live and die, find success and fall to ruin. For the Whiteoaks, there remains something solid and unchanging in the midst of life's transience--the manor house and its rich surrounding farmland known as "Jalna." The author, Mazo de la Roche, gave the members of her fictitious family names from gravestones in Ontario's New Market cemetery, and the story itself balances somewhere between fact and fiction. Critics think events in the novels reflect de la Roche's dreams, moods, and life experiences. As the daughter of a traveling businessman, she may have seen the Jalna estate as the roots she never had, while the character Finch, from Finch's Fortune, is thought to be a reflection of herself.
The Jalna series consists of sixteen novels that tell the story of the Canadian Whiteoak family from 1854 to 1954, although each of the novels can also be enjoyed as an independent story. In the world of the Whiteoaks, as in real life, people live and die, find success and fall to ruin. For the Whiteoaks, there remains something solid and unchanging in the midst of life's transience--the manor house and its rich surrounding farmland known as "Jalna." The author, Mazo de la Roche, gave the members of her fictitious family names from gravestones in Ontario's New Market cemetery, and the story itself balances somewhere between fact and fiction. Critics think events in the novels reflect de la Roche's dreams, moods, and life experiences. As the daughter of a traveling businessman, she may have seen the Jalna estate as the roots she never had, while the character Finch, from Finch's Fortune, is thought to be a reflection of herself.
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December 5, 2023
Portrait of a dog, published in 1930, is one I want to use the word delightful a lot when describing it. Dogs are a delight, but it takes an observant person and a great command of the English language to make the book charming and wonderful. I will add a fair amount of excerpts from the book after I get my own thoughts out first so you can get a feel for the book.
The story is of a lady describing the life of mostly of her Scottish terrier. We are told of the naming of this little female, Argyle Bunty, only once and then throughout the book is just referred to as ‘you.’ So. the book is a fond remembrance like she wrote it talking to the dog.
There are some other dogs , mentioned, especially a West Highland Terrier dog that was his companion for a good part, but mostly it was able about the Scotty.
When I was young, my neighbors had, and I think bred, Scottish Terriers, but I never interacted with them. Seems like a huge, missed opportunity now. After I had a couple of Newfoundland’s, my wife had us get a West Highland White terrier, and I came to appreciate the good, and tolerate the less than good, of terriers. So much good in every breed, with various aspects of good within each individual dog, hard to really crown any breed the best. I somehow feel like getting another Newfoundland, but also feel like it would be fun to experience an Airedale after having read a few books with them as the hero.
I know what a lot of people want to know about any dog book, if Kleenex is needed. The answer is yes, but like actually owning a dog, you can’t have all the joy, without a bit of sadness.
My first excerpt is from when they first got the dog as a puppy.
‘That tail! Was there ever such another? A man, they say, may wear his heart on his sleeve, certainly you wore yours on your tail. Other dogs I have known wagged their tails in pleasure or drew them close in fear or apology. Yours never drooped. You waved it like a banner and it was seldom that it was absolutely still. - A breeder told me that its carriage was too “gay” for showing, that your muzzle was not heavy enough, that your eyes were too large. He agreed, and well he might, that they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in a dog’s head and that you had a “grand little body.” Out walking, the waving of that tail gave our progress the air of a procession. It was a hardened hater of dogs who had not a smile for you. You had none of the dourness and reserve attributed to your breed. From morning to night you craved friendliness, and you were almost as greedy for it as you were for food. Lying stretched asleep on the floor, you would seem suddenly to be conscious of something. Life stirring about you, perhaps—and you approved of life with your whole soul. Your tail would thud against the floor in ecstasy,’
It sounds like as far as Scottish terriers go, this one was special:
‘A Scotsman once wrote that “the real Scottish terrier has the most characteristic facial expression. Jock is a thinker, philosopher, and seer . . . there should be a cast of thought upon his face even when he is a puppy and knows naught of men and dogs and things from personal experience.” You had the cast of thought upon your puppy face, but your philosophy was one of beaming approval of the world in which you found yourself.’
I also like how the book reminded me of the first times a puppy learns to jump up, like on to the couch, or go somewhere the cat (Christopher) goes:
‘Then, at last, a day came when you clambered to the top and sat there, the picture of comical surprise at your own achievement, you seemed afraid to get down for fear you would never again accomplish the feat but sat surveying the room from this new and startling eminence. It seemed no time until you were jumping over the stool as though it were nothing, and after that came the conquest of Christopher’s chair. He no longer had any refuge from you except on the shoulder of one of us or on Lizzie’s lap.’
We are only given the shadow of details for tragedies that happen in the book with the full illumination how they navigated past them. I liked the imagery in this one after previous chapters described how much the dogs loved to explore the stalks of corn in the nearby field:
‘It was over. Tragedy had found us, passed over us as a storm, We three who were left were prostrate in spirit, as the corn lay prostrate after the storm of wind and hail. After a while the corn had raised itself toward the sun, but never again were the bowed heads so erect, never again so fearless, so certain that all would be well. Nor would our spirits.’
Moving forward meant becoming a writer for the author. Love how she conveys how important a dog is when you take notice of them and allow them in:
‘We began to plan extravagantly, as we always did, and you sat in our midst, saying in your own way, with deep gazing eyes: “I shall be there. I am the centre of all this planning."’
‘On the day when I first took my writing things into that room and spread them out on the table and tried to work, you followed and lay down at my feet. That was the beginning of your share in all my work. You seemed to think that it could not go on rightly without you —and, indeed, this came to be so. I must have the support of your solid little presence, the intimacy of your eyes, the sympathy of your quick thudding tail on the floor when the pencil was laid down, the paper gathered up. You came to know that moment unerringly. I might fret about the room, look out of the window, or go to another room in search of something; you never budged. There you sat, doing your part, and not till the final moment rising to stretch, to give me a look complacent, beaming, affectionate, sealing the morning’s work.‘
Another passage to share with fans of Scottish Terriers:
‘I have known many breeds, — Irish Terriers, Airedales, Blue Bedlingtons, Collies, Spaniels, Yorkshires, English Bulldogs, — but it seems to me that the Scottish terrier has the most generous charm of all. Nature was liberal to him in giving him the heart of a big dog in a body so compact and small that he might be the perfect companion indoors and out.’
I also liked how she weighed in on the conversation of whether a boy dog or a female is better:
‘These differences of male and female! Looking back over that bright-eyed, quick-breathing procession, I believe that the bitch showed greater endurance, greater adaptability, and —I hate to say it — greater greed than the dog. A sense of self-preservation, preservation of her unborn young, is innate in her. The male is more wistful, more flighty, and he seldom has her soul-searching gaze that goes straight to one’s heart. The bitch usually has an adventurous, devil-may-care spirit. She is very sure of herself and her place in one’s affections.’
In the book the dogs were allowed to run free and would be gone for the whole day at times and not return until night. I know how incredibly stupid that would be now where motorcars are so much more prevalent and space to run is more limited for most of us. But I love the sight of a dog running off leash and I know the dogs take great joy in running and exploring. Here you can get a feel for that freedom:
‘The fullness of life had overflowed in you that day, Food mattered nothing, nor home, nor love of Us, only the chase, the penetrating of burrows, the return to the life for which your sires had been bred. But at sunset you came home, weary little dogs, ready to be stroked, to be held on comfortable laps, to submit to the pulling out of burrs.’
There is a good part of it telling of the Scotty and Westie together and the difference in personality between the two, like this passage which starts relating about the Westie:
‘I am certain that his mind was beset by dangers of which you recked nothing. I have seen the hair rise all along his spine, as he sat by your side, while you gazed tranquilly, savoring the amiability of the universe. But in your rages your two spirits were as one. By the time late summer came, “those black and white rascals” were the terror of all the dogs about. I think it was the ferocity of your sudden rushes. You were like two wild Highlanders charging down the glen brandishing your battle-axes. I have seen you harry a Great Dane the length of the beach, running in and out among his legs, leaping on him from either side, with snarls twice too fierce for your size. There were complaints.’
Our Scotty dog eventually goes blind but there is still so much interesting behavior left with him. I liked how she describes how the dog puzzles out the change in circumstances and then proceeds to live a normal life. Here is a bit that relates to that. Hope you can enjoy the prose as much as I do.
‘The minutest sound that had any bearing on your daily routine became significant to you. If I opened a certain drawer in my desk and took out my purse, opened it to see what it contained, you had leaped to the floor in an instant and were at my side, though the moment before you had been curled up on your chair apparently sound asleep. You knew that that sound portended marketing and its delights. The butcher’s and the bone bought for you. The bakeshop where you had only to sit up, waving your paws, and a little sweet cake would be put before you. The grocer’s and the evil converse with his great grey cat. Best of all, the fishmongers! I can see his inscrutable, unsmiling face as he weighed the fish, affecting to ignore you. Then suddenly he seemed to become aware of your pawing on his apron, of your whimperings that were now becoming outraged cries.’
Hope you can see why I loved the book.
The story is of a lady describing the life of mostly of her Scottish terrier. We are told of the naming of this little female, Argyle Bunty, only once and then throughout the book is just referred to as ‘you.’ So. the book is a fond remembrance like she wrote it talking to the dog.
There are some other dogs , mentioned, especially a West Highland Terrier dog that was his companion for a good part, but mostly it was able about the Scotty.
When I was young, my neighbors had, and I think bred, Scottish Terriers, but I never interacted with them. Seems like a huge, missed opportunity now. After I had a couple of Newfoundland’s, my wife had us get a West Highland White terrier, and I came to appreciate the good, and tolerate the less than good, of terriers. So much good in every breed, with various aspects of good within each individual dog, hard to really crown any breed the best. I somehow feel like getting another Newfoundland, but also feel like it would be fun to experience an Airedale after having read a few books with them as the hero.
I know what a lot of people want to know about any dog book, if Kleenex is needed. The answer is yes, but like actually owning a dog, you can’t have all the joy, without a bit of sadness.
My first excerpt is from when they first got the dog as a puppy.
‘That tail! Was there ever such another? A man, they say, may wear his heart on his sleeve, certainly you wore yours on your tail. Other dogs I have known wagged their tails in pleasure or drew them close in fear or apology. Yours never drooped. You waved it like a banner and it was seldom that it was absolutely still. - A breeder told me that its carriage was too “gay” for showing, that your muzzle was not heavy enough, that your eyes were too large. He agreed, and well he might, that they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in a dog’s head and that you had a “grand little body.” Out walking, the waving of that tail gave our progress the air of a procession. It was a hardened hater of dogs who had not a smile for you. You had none of the dourness and reserve attributed to your breed. From morning to night you craved friendliness, and you were almost as greedy for it as you were for food. Lying stretched asleep on the floor, you would seem suddenly to be conscious of something. Life stirring about you, perhaps—and you approved of life with your whole soul. Your tail would thud against the floor in ecstasy,’
It sounds like as far as Scottish terriers go, this one was special:
‘A Scotsman once wrote that “the real Scottish terrier has the most characteristic facial expression. Jock is a thinker, philosopher, and seer . . . there should be a cast of thought upon his face even when he is a puppy and knows naught of men and dogs and things from personal experience.” You had the cast of thought upon your puppy face, but your philosophy was one of beaming approval of the world in which you found yourself.’
I also like how the book reminded me of the first times a puppy learns to jump up, like on to the couch, or go somewhere the cat (Christopher) goes:
‘Then, at last, a day came when you clambered to the top and sat there, the picture of comical surprise at your own achievement, you seemed afraid to get down for fear you would never again accomplish the feat but sat surveying the room from this new and startling eminence. It seemed no time until you were jumping over the stool as though it were nothing, and after that came the conquest of Christopher’s chair. He no longer had any refuge from you except on the shoulder of one of us or on Lizzie’s lap.’
We are only given the shadow of details for tragedies that happen in the book with the full illumination how they navigated past them. I liked the imagery in this one after previous chapters described how much the dogs loved to explore the stalks of corn in the nearby field:
‘It was over. Tragedy had found us, passed over us as a storm, We three who were left were prostrate in spirit, as the corn lay prostrate after the storm of wind and hail. After a while the corn had raised itself toward the sun, but never again were the bowed heads so erect, never again so fearless, so certain that all would be well. Nor would our spirits.’
Moving forward meant becoming a writer for the author. Love how she conveys how important a dog is when you take notice of them and allow them in:
‘We began to plan extravagantly, as we always did, and you sat in our midst, saying in your own way, with deep gazing eyes: “I shall be there. I am the centre of all this planning."’
‘On the day when I first took my writing things into that room and spread them out on the table and tried to work, you followed and lay down at my feet. That was the beginning of your share in all my work. You seemed to think that it could not go on rightly without you —and, indeed, this came to be so. I must have the support of your solid little presence, the intimacy of your eyes, the sympathy of your quick thudding tail on the floor when the pencil was laid down, the paper gathered up. You came to know that moment unerringly. I might fret about the room, look out of the window, or go to another room in search of something; you never budged. There you sat, doing your part, and not till the final moment rising to stretch, to give me a look complacent, beaming, affectionate, sealing the morning’s work.‘
Another passage to share with fans of Scottish Terriers:
‘I have known many breeds, — Irish Terriers, Airedales, Blue Bedlingtons, Collies, Spaniels, Yorkshires, English Bulldogs, — but it seems to me that the Scottish terrier has the most generous charm of all. Nature was liberal to him in giving him the heart of a big dog in a body so compact and small that he might be the perfect companion indoors and out.’
I also liked how she weighed in on the conversation of whether a boy dog or a female is better:
‘These differences of male and female! Looking back over that bright-eyed, quick-breathing procession, I believe that the bitch showed greater endurance, greater adaptability, and —I hate to say it — greater greed than the dog. A sense of self-preservation, preservation of her unborn young, is innate in her. The male is more wistful, more flighty, and he seldom has her soul-searching gaze that goes straight to one’s heart. The bitch usually has an adventurous, devil-may-care spirit. She is very sure of herself and her place in one’s affections.’
In the book the dogs were allowed to run free and would be gone for the whole day at times and not return until night. I know how incredibly stupid that would be now where motorcars are so much more prevalent and space to run is more limited for most of us. But I love the sight of a dog running off leash and I know the dogs take great joy in running and exploring. Here you can get a feel for that freedom:
‘The fullness of life had overflowed in you that day, Food mattered nothing, nor home, nor love of Us, only the chase, the penetrating of burrows, the return to the life for which your sires had been bred. But at sunset you came home, weary little dogs, ready to be stroked, to be held on comfortable laps, to submit to the pulling out of burrs.’
There is a good part of it telling of the Scotty and Westie together and the difference in personality between the two, like this passage which starts relating about the Westie:
‘I am certain that his mind was beset by dangers of which you recked nothing. I have seen the hair rise all along his spine, as he sat by your side, while you gazed tranquilly, savoring the amiability of the universe. But in your rages your two spirits were as one. By the time late summer came, “those black and white rascals” were the terror of all the dogs about. I think it was the ferocity of your sudden rushes. You were like two wild Highlanders charging down the glen brandishing your battle-axes. I have seen you harry a Great Dane the length of the beach, running in and out among his legs, leaping on him from either side, with snarls twice too fierce for your size. There were complaints.’
Our Scotty dog eventually goes blind but there is still so much interesting behavior left with him. I liked how she describes how the dog puzzles out the change in circumstances and then proceeds to live a normal life. Here is a bit that relates to that. Hope you can enjoy the prose as much as I do.
‘The minutest sound that had any bearing on your daily routine became significant to you. If I opened a certain drawer in my desk and took out my purse, opened it to see what it contained, you had leaped to the floor in an instant and were at my side, though the moment before you had been curled up on your chair apparently sound asleep. You knew that that sound portended marketing and its delights. The butcher’s and the bone bought for you. The bakeshop where you had only to sit up, waving your paws, and a little sweet cake would be put before you. The grocer’s and the evil converse with his great grey cat. Best of all, the fishmongers! I can see his inscrutable, unsmiling face as he weighed the fish, affecting to ignore you. Then suddenly he seemed to become aware of your pawing on his apron, of your whimperings that were now becoming outraged cries.’
Hope you can see why I loved the book.
September 2, 2008
One of the most sensitive books about an animal I have ever read. While it is not unusual to find a biographical treatment of a beloved pet, this book stands out in that it is not a eulogy. The author presents the spirited terrier with its captivating character as well as its faults, and does so with the dignity usually reserved for nobility. I first read this book in 1946 when I was ten, and have read it every few years ever since. Like all truly good literature, I have gained new insights and understanding with each reading. It will probably be very difficult to find a copy, but if you are able to find one, you will not regret reading it.
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